


Ever After

by MG12CSI16



Series: Ducks in a Row [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Ducks in a Row Series, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Sex, Parentlock, Pregnancy, Sequel, Sherlolly - Freeform, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 17,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and one-shots about Molly and Sherlock as they raise their daughter, and the ups and downs life tends to throw around. Sequel of sorts to Ducks in a Row but could stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say I Do

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of Ducks in a Row but instead of full chapters it's mostly a bunch of drabbles and short stories. I have no idea how many chapters it's going to be or how it will even end, right now I'm just having fun expanding this little universe.

"Are you nervous?" the question catches him by surprise as picks up his tie, the fabric suddenly heavy in his hands. He swallows and tucks it under his collar, fingers working quickly while his eyes avoid John's on the other side of the room.

He clears his throat quietly and his mask easily slips into place just as the doctor manages to catch a glimpse of him in the mirror. "No. what is there to be nervous about?"

John isn't fooled by his question, sends him a slightly annoyed look and shifts the little girl resting impatiently in his arms. "I'm only asking because I know you Sherlock and I know this is different for you. You once told me you were married to your work and I went on to believe that that's how things were going to be. People don't like change, especially you."

He shrugs and sets Annabelle on the ground, chubby legs carrying her to her father with hands outstretched. Sherlock offers her a smile, hoists her up onto his hip and tickles her, listening to the giggles that fill the room. He looks back at John with a half-smile.

"That was a long time ago and the circumstances were not the same then. I think I just needed someone to show me what it was really like to love someone, to show me that it didn't have to lead to a predictable life like I thought it did." He tugs at the tie with a small frown. "Molly was able to do that and I know she wants this."

"Can you say the same?"

He bites back a laugh at John's challenge but knows his friend is only concerned for him. For that he's grateful.

"Yes, I think that after everything we've been through I can say I want this."

Sherlock turns and meets John and their eyes lock, conveying every emotion they've felt in their years together. To know they understand each other is a comfort they both relish. John was Sherlock's only thought when it came to his best man, knows anyone else would pale in comparison if they stood in the spot that was so obviously created for his best friend.

When they finally break the contact, small smiles tugging at their lips, Sherlock holds Annabelle close as John opens the door. He claps his friend on the back and gestures for him to go first.

"Alright, let's get you married then."

* * *

The church is practically empty, but that's how they both wanted it; a handful of Molly's close family and a few friends, Mycroft and Sherlock's mother, Greg and Mrs. Hudson, and John and Mary. From the alter at the front of the room Sherlock taps his foot impatiently and John can't hide his grin when he notices that he really is nervous.

Everyone has just taken their seats when the low rumble of an organ fills the air, makes everyone stand eagerly and crane their necks to see the bride at the other end of the aisle. Murmurs and excited laughter begin as Molly comes into view and Sherlock feels his sharp intake of breath at the sight in front of him.

Her dress is long and white, traditional in every sense but seems to hug her curves and highlight every part of her body. Her long hair is swept up, a few tendrils framing her face and highlighting the smile she can't seem to conceal.

Their eyes meet over all the people, the flower petals being thrown in the air. In that moment it's as if they're the only people in the room, captivated by each other in a way they've never felt before. The emotion he was feeling was so raw, so undeniably real that Sherlock wondered for the briefest of seconds if it was real.

Molly reaches the end of the aisle, hands her small bouquet of flowers off and stands in front of him, cheeks blushing as a giggle escapes. He carefully reaches out and captures her hand, intertwining their fingers as the ceremony begins.

From there, there are tears and laughter as the bride and groom deliver their vows, slipping the slender gold bands onto each other's fingers in a moment that has everyone completely silent. Then the pastor speaks, his voice rumbling in the room as he announces the new husband and wife.

With a smile Sherlock rests a hand on Molly's waist and pulls her closer to him, covering her lips with his own as everyone in the crowd cheers and claps. They pull back and Molly's eyes instantly scan the crowd for her daughter, seeing her sitting happily in her grandmother's lap before Molly comes over and scoops her into her arms.

Hand in hand she and Sherlock walk back down the aisle with their daughter, a true family neither would trade for anything in this world. Occasionally Sherlock feels his gaze wandering to the ring on his finger, the symbol that he was completely devoted to the woman beside him and he would never want anyone else.

And no one else in return could ever show him the love she did.


	2. Home Sweet Home

The boxes are all packed, stacked side by side in the hallway and in the now bare living room. To Sherlock it looks like the place is abandoned, as if they had never lived there or begun to raise a family. He laughs a little at his thoughts, wonders when he got so sentimental about things like this that only the average person would think about.

Releasing a loud sigh he bends down and picks up another box, carrying it outside to the truck where Molly talks to the driver, explains where everything needs to be taken and what's breakable. She's holding Annabelle's hand and looks up when she sees him, her smile excited and glowing with warmth.

He sets the box down in the back of the truck and heads inside to grab another, his footsteps seeming impossibly loud on the hardwood floor. Right as he prepares to pick up another box he can't seem to shake the melancholy feeling in the pit of stomach when he thinks about what they're leaving behind.

It amuses him now that he feels like this, knowing before it had been his idea to pack up and move somewhere bigger, somewhere where they were surrounded by more people they knew and closer to the hospital. And now thinking back to when he had come here seeking shelter and comfort at one of the lowest points in his life, forging a connection with the only woman who ever saw him for what he truly was, bringing his daughter home when she was just days old and the most fragile thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Standing up and brushing himself off he slowly makes one last round, stopping in every room and smiling when he remembers everything that's happened in the span of just a year when their lives dramatically changed. It's not until he's left staring at the jungle animals on the yellow walls that he hears Molly calling for him, her head poking around the corner and eyes softening when she sees him.

"Hey," she calls softly, catching his attention, "we've got everything packed up and ready to go."

Sherlock nods his head and feels Molly slip her arms around him, head resting against his back as she sighs. "It feels weird leaving all this behind doesn't it?"

"Strangely yes," he answers with a soft chuckle. "But it's for the better. Nothing we'll regret."

They give the room one last longing look before they leave hand in hand, turning off the light and watching the dark engulf a part of their past.

* * *

In the car Sherlock lets out another huff as Molly grips the steering wheel. She smirks at his obvious annoyance but there's no pity on her face.

"There's no point in pouting you know, I asked you to come with me to look at this place twice and you couldn't be bothered to leave the flat both times. Now you'll just have to be patient until we get there." Her voice was stern and playful as she narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well he had it in him to keep the act up until she told him where exactly they were heading.

Although unknown to Sherlock she had been gratefully relieved he hadn't wanted to go looking at flats with her after their first two trips out, coming up empty handed both times had only annoyed the detective and he had left it up to her to find a place they could deem suitable.

She had been to at least three different places after that but none of them seemed to give off a vibe that told her this is where she was going to raise her family. After that she had gone to John feeling defeated and he had spouted off an idea that she couldn't get out of her head after that. From there it had become her secret and she was determined to make it something that Sherlock would love.

In the few short months following her meeting with John she had been working hard to make sure the place was indeed perfect and that Sherlock would have a hard time finding any faults in it. Now she was nervous, butterflies fluttering in her stomach when she thought about his reaction.

Sherlock shifts in his seat as she turns onto the all too familiar road, the snow falling lightly and coating the ground in a thin sheet of sparkly white. Molly glances hesitantly at him in an attempt to gauge his reaction but she finds that all she can see is genuine confusion. She grins at that.

His door swings open before she barely has any time to stop the car, his feet thudding when they hit the pavement. Molly gets out too, ignoring the loud engine coming from the truck as it pulls up beside them. She quickly scoops Annabelle out of her seat and shields her face from the falling snow. Walking over to Sherlock she can see him looking up at the building, then back at her.

He's silent for a moment until finally, "this is Baker Street."

Molly rolls her eyes and lets out a breath, wispy white clouds forming when it hits the cold air. "Very good deduction Mr. Holmes. Now, would you like to see your new flat?"

His mouth falls open and he looks at her in shock, making her giggle as she takes his hand and leads him up the steps where she knocks on a door that is all too familiar door. It swings open and Mrs. Hudson instantly wraps them in a hug.

"Oh, this is so wonderful. Having you all under the same roof is just a blessing!" she quickly ushers them inside and Sherlock's eyes fall on John leaning casually against the wall with a smirk. Following him Sherlock can't help the chuckle that escapes him when John opens another door and they descend down a staircase.

What he sees when he opens his eyes is something he can't describe. The last time he had seen this place the walls had been stained and the carpet was a dull beige, stained with age and dust. Now though the flat was void of chipping paint and any signs of abandonment.

He turns and looks at Molly who looks at him hopefully.

"Do you like it? It was actually John's idea and I thought it was just perfect for us. So, do you like it?"

Sherlock folds his arms across his chest, face giving away nothing. "How did you do this?  _Afford_  it?" he finally asks, looking around at all the faces in the room.

Molly bites her lip and gives him her sweetest smile. "Your brother may or may not be responsible for that bit."

He can't hide his scowl but it's overpowered by the emotion in his eyes when he realizes what everyone has done for him. He no longer has to dwell on the sadness he feels from leaving his memories behind, now he has a place where he can build new ones with the people he cares about most.

Pulling Molly into a hug he kisses her hair and mutters an almost silent "thank you."


	3. Milk and Manly Talks

Sherlock can sense there's something John isn't telling him.

He's too quiet as they stroll through the aisles of the grocery store, reaching out and grabbing things off of the shelves before tossing them into the basket lamely. Devoid of his normally cheery character he trudges alongside the detective, unintentionally avoiding his questions and the calling of his name.

And Sherlock Holmes does not take well to being ignored.

Stopping in front of John as he moves to put the milk in the basket he folds his arms and creates a barrier. The doctor looks up, his eyes clouded by something that seems so achingly familiar to Sherlock he has to take a deep breath.

When he finds his voice he asks, "what's wrong?" letting genuine concern drip into the words because he wants John to know there isn't anything he can't trust him with.

Looking up in defeat John sighs. "Mary's pregnant."

All Sherlock does is nod, his thoughts confirmed by his friends words. He steps aside and lets him place the carton of milk down, continuing through the store. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat Sherlock quickens his pace to catch up, falling into step beside him.

"Are you upset about it?"

John shakes his head. "No, not at all. I mean, after spending all this time with Annabelle and watching you two together I realized I wanted children. But at the same time I keep asking myself what if I mess up or they don't like me?" he runs a hand over his face where exhaustion is evident.

Sherlock presses his lips together, racks his brain for something to say because he knows John is relying on him to help. He owes it to him after all to come up with at least a few words of encouragement but his mind comes up blank, not even the slightest hint of some poetic string of words he can use so he settles for something simpler.

"John, I know that it seems daunting, the thought of raising a child and sometimes it is. I nearly destroyed the family I have now because I reacted the same way you did and then didn't allow myself to believe I could be a father." He grabs a few things and sets them on the belt, listening to the monotone beep of the scanner. "I just don't want you to doubt yourself because if anyone is capable of this it's you."

He looks up and sees John is watching him, hands curled into fists although he isn't frowning anymore. His eyes hold a bit more hope and he nods his head, slowly taking in Sherlock's words and realizing he wants this and he wouldn't do anything to risk it. Breathing out a sigh of relief he relaxes and they pay for their things, heading out into the cold air.

They pack their bags into the car, only the slamming of the doors as they close filling the silence. Sherlock slips in behind the wheel, gives John one last glance before he clears his throat and stops turning the key in the ignition.

"Are you going to be ok? I know I'm not much help but I know you're capable of this."

"I think it'll take a while to get used to the idea, but I am happy. And knowing you think that means a lot, just so you know."

And it does. It means more than either of them are even aware.


	4. Lions and Tigers and Bears

Annabelle tugs on the collar of Sherlock's coat as he lifts her onto his shoulder, shielding his eyes from the very welcome rays of sun. The tiger behind the glass in front of them paces, low growls echoing through the enclosure.

"Daddy get closer!" she squeals, giggling when he walks right up to the glass and sets her on the floor, the animal paying her no attention. She places her hand on the glass, smiling up at her dad in awe with twinkling green eyes.

She walks back to Sherlock and holds her arms up, letting him see she no longer wishes to walk and he picks her up in one fluid motion.

"And what would you like to see next little lady?" he kisses her cheek smudged with the residue of the chocolate ice cream they had shared, wiping it away with his thumb.

At the question her face lights up and she claps her hands together.

"Monkeys!" she cries and he just smiles and walks in the direction of the monkey habitat, listening to her talk and laugh.

The decision to come to the zoo had been an impulse, a lazy day that started on the couch had morphed into a boredom Sherlock couldn't control and the rare sunshine that covered the city made the need to go out and do something even stronger.

With a quick phone call to Molly he laid out his plan and bundled Annabelle up, the promise that they would see all the animals she had practically dragged him out of the flat in a fit of excitement. So far they had covered half the park and it was just a little past one in the afternoon.

He can tell she's getting tired, not wanting to walk very far before she asks for his assistance and he swings her onto his shoulder and listens to her laugh. He approaches the monkeys now and tiny feet swing back and forth, bumping his chest.

"which one do you like best?" he asks, squinting against the light to see them all. Annabelle folds her tiny arms across her chest and cocks her head to the side before she points.

"That one!" Sherlock follows her gaze and sees the smallest of the monkeys, sitting on the floor of the makeshift jungle and staring at the crowd around it. He smiles and looks up at her.

"And why is he your favorite?"

"He has hair like yours." She says simply and Sherlock laughs loudly, ruffling her hair in response.

"You're a very silly girl you know." Annabelle smiles proudly and nods her head. He only shakes his head and laughs again.

Watching her grow has been one of the most life changing experiences he's ever been a part of, and now that she walks and talks he finds out more about her every day. She's quickly gained a personality of her own, with Molly's compassion and his want to learn new things.

Each night he watches as Molly reads her a story, running her fingers through the thick black curls as they take turns flipping the pages. When the story is finished she waits for Sherlock to come in and tuck the blanket around her, his deep voice something like a lullaby to her.

It almost pains him to realize the same little girl he's watching right now, running and laughing and talking is the same tiny baby he's cherished since day one. It's a gentle reminder to be thankful for every little moment between them, no matter how small. With new found energy he scoops her up again and starts jogging down the concrete path and she wiggles in his arms and grips him tightly.

"Daddy!" she tries to protest but her laughter interrupts.

All Sherlock does is keep running. Smiling.

"If we don't hurry we won't get to see the giraffes!"


	5. Little Wonders, Big Decisions

His footsteps echo through the quiet halls, the slick tile beneath his feet reflecting the bright white lights above him. He can hear John before he actually sees him; the doctor's hushed voice floating down the hall in a tone Sherlock's never heard from him before. He turns the corner and sees the small, wriggling bundle in his friend's arms and look of pure bliss on his face.

At the sound of someone else approaching his head snaps up, eyes flashing for just a second until they rest on a familiar face and his lips spread out in a smile, as if he wants everyone to know he's the luckiest man on earth and the tiny person he holds in his arms is worth all the fine things in the world.

"Hey," he murmurs, tightening his grip the slightest bit and nodding in Sherlock's direction. The detective nods back and peers into the blanket, seeing the tiny scrunched up face of the little girl.

"She's lovely," he compliments, taking note of the ice blue eyes looking up at him and the tuft of sandy blonde hair peeking out from under a tiny cap. "Looks like her mother."

John nods his agreement but never seems to look away from his daughter, magnetically drawn to her in a way he can't describe but knows Sherlock understands. He's grateful for that.

"How's Mary?" he asks, leaning against the wall casually and shoving his hands in his pockets. John looks towards the closed door beside them.

"Sleeping. She's exhausted."

"And how are  _you_?" he presses, smiling slightly. John looks at him, at a loss for words and Sherlock knows he's absolutely fine. Probably happier than he's ever imagine he could be.

"I'm... I'm great." He takes a quick look at Sherlock, then back at his daughter. Finally, "Would you like to hold her?"

He pauses for a moment before he holds his arms out and John maneuvers the baby into Sherlock's arms, standing back and wringing his hands at the sudden loss of warmth.

"Does she have a name yet?" John smiles again, folds his arms across his chest.

"Mary came up with Lucy, I wasn't a huge fan at first but it's starting to stick." Sherlock offers a smirk and cradles the baby, pulling her closer to his chest. The feeling of holding a baby this small makes his chest flutter and his gut churns with a feeling he can't really describe.

Warmth, familiarity.

He looks back at John with as much pride as he can muster, giving him an awkward one armed hug that seems to speak volumes.

"Lucy is a nice name. Suits her just fine."

* * *

When he gets back to the flat Molly has just crept out of Annabelle's room, her eyes lighting up when she sees him. She presses a kiss to his lips as he shrugs off his coat, both of them collapsing onto the couch before Molly starts her interrogation.

"So how are they? Is it a boy or a girl? How's John?"

"They're all doing well. It's a little girl. They've decided to call her Lucy." Molly coos over the name, going on to talk about how they'll have to go visit tomorrow as well and Sherlock nods his head in agreement, his mind seeming to wander as she continues to talk.

He's all but lost in his own thoughts until Molly raises her voice a bit, the question that rolls off her lips taking his breath away and making his head spin.

" _What do you think of another baby?"_

He blinks a few times and looks at her.

"I'm sorry?" Molly frowns, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears and looking down at her lap. Sherlock feels a pang of guilt run through him. The last time she had reacted like that to anything he said had been before any of the past three years had happened and his supposed death had yet to take place.

Maneuvering his body so he can pull her into his lap, Sherlock wraps his arms around her and kisses her neck. She melts into him but the tension is still evident in her jerky movements.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to react that way. You just managed to take me by surprise. I've never given thought to another child; I didn't exactly think it was in my cards to have one, let alone more than that."

"But you're not saying no?" Her dark eyes are hopeful, pleading even and it makes Sherlock heave a sigh as he presses against the couch.

"I don't know. Where is this coming from? Mary and John? I know they look happy and glowing now but remember everything they'll be looking forward to? Diapers, barely any sleep, constant worrying."

Molly rolls her eyes and takes his hand in her own, running her fingers over his knuckles and every line and scar.

"If you want to get technical you barely sleep as it is, you don't mind changing diapers considering all those bloody awful experiments you do and you've been in a constant state of worry since we walked out of the hospital nearly three years ago. Therefore, your points are invalid. But if you must know it's been on my mind for a few months now."

"And you're sure this is something you really want? Annabelle is still young and there's still so much more we have to learn from her and vice versa. I'm not saying no but I am saying maybe now isn't the time."

Molly considers this, his words and voice spinning around in her head in away only Sherlock can manage. Pressing a kiss to his hand she cranes her neck so she's looking at him, eyes piercing.

"So that's a maybe?" Sherlock leans down and captures her lips with his own, the tension slowly leaving both of them.

"It's a maybe."


	6. Clues and the Final Decision

As hard as Molly tries the hints she's been leaving around the house the past few weeks have been anything but subtle.

It starts with the books she leaves out on the counter and the nightstand, the same baby books she read through during her first pregnancy and when Sherlock finds one he picks it up and looks at it with distaste. He flips through a few pages, sees the things she's circled and highlighted and the pages she's folded. The conversation they had the night Lucy was born replays in his head, the look of longing in Molly's eyes when she asked him about another baby burnt into his mind. He lets the book drop back onto the counter with a dull thud and tries to clear his mind.

Not long after he starts finding the books does he notice she spends absolutely every moment she can upstairs with Mary, leaving Sherlock on his own to perform a few experiments if she's gone long enough. Sometimes John will trudge down the stairs without a word, simply tossing Sherlock a look that says, "Good luck," and slumps onto the couch. Sherlock just swallows thickly and turns his attention back to his microscope.

Occasionally he can hear the footsteps upstairs, pictures one of the women cradling the tiny baby as she cries, pacing the floor and whispering softly. Sometimes it's enough to make him tiptoe into Annabelle's room and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her eyelids flutter and her tiny chest rise and fall. He wonders if it would be such a bad thing to do this all over again.

The final clue, which comes out of nowhere and takes Sherlock by complete surprise is when Molly arranges for Mrs. Hudson to take Annabelle for the night. She seems excited at the idea and as soon as Sherlock walks her up the stairs, kisses her goodnight and returns to his own flat, Molly is on him Ans hungry, desperate kisses are placed on his lips, his neck and his collar-bone.

He gasps in surprise but his hands are already gripping her waist, pulling her closer in a desperate attempt to feel her against him. Her slender fingers work quickly to undo his shirt, carefully pushing it from his shoulders before her lips trail down his chest, back up to his throat and finally to his lips. He pushes her back, towards the bedroom and makes sure to step over all the books and toys lining the floor.

In a rush of kisses and skin already slick with sweat they collapse onto the bed, their clothes shed onto the floor. Molly wriggles beneath Sherlock, smiling at him with enough admiration to make the detective give in. He dips his head down, letting his lips brush against her ear and hot breath sail across her skin as it escapes his lips in ragged gasps.

"You're awfully sly," he coos, "something tells me this isn't just because you're in the mood."

He watches her face but she keeps her mask in place, eyes staring intently into his.

"I know we talked about it but this is something I want Sherlock. You can't tell me you don't want to feel all of this again can you?" He traces her lips with the pad of his finger, kisses them gently and whispers, "just promise me this won't become an obsession. We can't spend all our time trying, we have other priorities too."

She rolls her eyes and pulls him down, fingers tangling in his hair. "Let's not try to have another baby," she says, "let's just stop trying  _not_  to have another baby. Makes things a little more fun anyway."


	7. The Big Reveal

He's pretty sure it shouldn't be this hard to please a two year old.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, it is and he suppresses a sigh as the fourth story book he's picked up is turned down by a violent shake of the head and Annabelle's curls bounce around her shoulders. She doesn't seem to sense her dad's obvious distress and frustration and her attention is suddenly captured by the toy she had previously discarded just a few minutes ago.

With an eye roll and a good natured smile Sherlock heaves himself up of the floor of John's living room and drops onto the sofa beside the doctor, taking care not to disturb the baby in his lap.

"I think she does that on purpose," he huffs and it's John's turn to roll his eyes, shifting the baby in his arms.

"She's two Sherlock. I'm pretty sure it wasn't on her daily to do list to make your life difficult." He glances down at his watch and stands up.

He holds Lucy out to Sherlock who gladly takes her in his arms and rubs her back when she begins to fuss, button nose scrunching up tightly.

"I'm going to fix her bottle, need anything?" Sherlock declines, continuing to comfort the baby and watch Annabelle play, her eyes slowly beginning to droop as she tries to fight obvious exhaustion. He rolls her eyes at her stubbornness and thinks of himself as a child, never wanting to give up the day. The clock on the desk tells him Molly and Mary should be back soon from their shopping trip.

It's Mary's first time out of the house since Lucy was born a few months ago and Molly was desperate to go out. Which is why he and John (who are expert babysitters by this point) are roped into spending the majority of their night watching senseless cartoons, playing pirates and being scolded by Mrs. Hudson when they get too loud.

But lately their lives have been a constant cycle of parenting and work and Sherlock knew both mother's deserved the break. Although by now he's reached a state of exhaustion that he didn't think was even a possibility.

When John reappears with the bottle his arms instantly reach out and Sherlock carefully hands him his daughter. He stands and stretches, walking over to scoop up Annabelle who doesn't even have the strength to protest as she rests her head on his shoulder. "It's someone's bedtime," he smirks, "and you look like your about to fall over. We'll see you tomorrow, call if you need anything."

With their goodbyes out of the way Sherlock manages to get downstairs and run a quick bath for Annabelle and the next twenty minutes consist of chasing a naked toddler who has suddenly gained back all their energy around the flat and getting drenched by soapy water.

Their nighttime ritual is pretty simple but tonight, with the use of a protruding lower lip and adorably large green eyes he reads twice as many stories than he normally does and finally manages to tuck Annabelle in before he creeps out of the room and sprawls across the couch, falling asleep quicker than he thought was humanly possible.

* * *

She can't for the life of her, get her hands to stop shaking. They're clutching the little white stick desperately but she can't seem to bring herself to turn it over. The door behind her slowly opens with a creak as Mary slips inside, a gentle hand resting itself on Molly's back. The blonde woman smiles and runs a hand through her short hair.

"You know, eventually you're going to have to look at it so we can go home. I know I said I wanted some time out of the flat but spending twenty minutes in the Tesco bathroom is not what I was talking about." Molly can't hold back the giggle and she glances up at her friend in defeat, shoulders slumping and her voice raising an octave or two.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous. I want this more than anything but for some reason I'm terrified of the answer." Mary cocks her head to the side in sympathy and holds out her hand.

"What if I look at it for you?" With a deep breath Molly nods her head and hands the stick to Mary, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for what seems like an eternity. Slowly she cracks one open and looks up to see Mary smiling widely.

"You better hope four of you can fit in that flat doll, you're pregnant."


	8. The Next Step

It's late when the front door finally creaks open. Molly's hands are still shaking, but the nerves have turned to excitement and there's a buzz running through her as her patience slowly wear thin. The den is dimly lit by the lamp in the corner, the yellow light spilling across the couch and drawing her attention to Sherlock's sleeping form, a smile tugging at her lips instinctively.

She can tell he's had a busy night judging by the tiny clothes strewn across the floor and the wet patches on his shirt, the telltale sign that their nightly routine took longer than it should have and she should probably fear looking at the bathroom. As her coat is shrugged from her shoulders and falls across a chair, she tiptoes to the couch and gently perches on the edge where she takes a moment to draw in a breath.

The look of content on Sherlock's face stirs something inside of her, making her really wonder if what she's about to tell him, the thing that's going to change the life that they know so well, will hinder the bond they've built. Suddenly her excitement melds into worry and she brushes her fingers across his cheek because the thought of waiting any longer is making her crazy.

At the gentle touch he stirs, green orbs looking up at her with admiration and relief as he blinks a few times. He sits up almost instantly and pulls her into him, the hug borderline bone crushing.

"I've changed my mind, these nights out aren't going to work anymore. I have never in my life had to bathe something that wiggles and moves that much." He shakes his head as if the experience has scarred him and her involuntary eye roll makes him scowl.

"I think you'll survive," she teases, patting his shoulder in mock sympathy before turning serious. "But now there's something we need to talk about..." her voice trails off as her hand moves to the pocket of her jeans and the object in her hands suddenly seems to weigh a hundred pounds and burns her skin.

In one quick movement she flips it over, offering it to Sherlock who just stares, gaze switching from the stick in her hand to her wild brown eyes. The little blue plus sign is screaming at him, changing his life just by being there but at the same time it ignites something paternal in him and one corner of his mouth tips up.

To anyone else it wouldn't seem like much but to Molly it's a reaction that makes her eyes burn with tears and Sherlock envelopes her in his arms as if he knows what's going through her mind, lips kissing her neck as fingers tangle in her hair. His mind is spinning is a thousand different directions but he knows for a fact that he wants this just as much as Molly does.

"This time we're going to do this entire thing right," he whispers.

It's a promise he will fight with his entire being to keep, something he feels with everything inside of him. And he'll never stop trying.


	9. Pancakes and Early Risers

It's days like today when Sherlock is thankful that Molly is a heavy sleeper.

With all the noise and the ungodly sounds they've been making for the past hour it's truly a miracle they haven't been caught yet and as Sherlock tries to wipe the flour from Annabelle's face and hands he hopes this breakfast makes up for the damage they've done to Molly's kitchen. He had almost forgotten it was Mother's day and the only reason he wasn't still asleep and in danger of having an upset wife on his hands was John, who had asked him just the day before what he planned on doing for her. His response had been silence and John Watson, who knows Sherlock Holmes better than anyone, knew exactly what that meant.

" _Don't tell me you forgot," the doctor pleaded, arms crossed in what looked to be disappointment. "Haven't you celebrated with your own mum before?"_

_Sherlock answered with a scoff but he wasn't fooling John. "If you haven't realized by now my family is a bit…let's say dysfunctional. Days like that haven't been around in a while."_

_John's blue eyes softened at this and he patted Sherlock's arm. "Well you don't want Annabelle to grow up thinking that's a normal occurrence do you? The two of you should do something nice for Molly, spend the day with her and just be happy. Cook her breakfast, make her something, she'll love anything you do for her as long as it comes from the both of you."_

After the conversation Sherlock had gone to bed restless, unable to sleep as Molly dozed peacefully beside him. His mind was spinning as he wondered what the perfect gift for her would be and as soon as the first hint of daylight had begun to seep through the curtains he quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to Annabelle's room.

Needless to say the toddler was not pleased to be woken up so early but as soon as Sherlock mentioned the day they had planned for Molly she was alert and dragging him to the kitchen with all thoughts of sleep behind her. He started with putting her at the table, a pile of crayons and a stack of crisp white paper in front of her. With the instructions to make mummy a card for her special day Annabelle furiously began to draw and scribble on the paper while Sherlock went from cabinet to cabinet hoping they had everything they needed for pancakes. With his search ending victoriously and all the things lined neatly on the counter he fully expected the next step to go smoothly.

Yeah, right.

By the time Annabelle had abandoned her artwork and joined him in the kitchen it was nearly unrecognizable. Although his cooking skills had bettered over the last few years they were nowhere near perfect and the now flour coated counter and floor proved it. While Annabelle was fascinated by the footprints she as making on the dusted ground Sherlock was busy whisking his bowlful of lumpy batter that looked more or less questionable.

"Have you finished your picture yet, love?" he asks Annabelle, who looks up at him with a streak of flower across her chubby cheek and smiles.

"Yes!" she shrieks and suddenly her little feet are pattering against the ground and she grabs the paper off the table, clutching it tightly and showing it off proudly.

Sherlock glances at the paper and stares the rainbow colored stick figures and the scribbles that tell him it's some version of the three of them, happy together. He gives her a warm smile and ruffles her hair with his free hand.

"That is one of the most beautiful drawing I've ever seen. Mummy will love it." With pride and excitement in her step Annabelle puts the drawing away and comes back to stand by Sherlock's side, glancing up at the counter with wide eyes.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"Making breakfast. We're going to give it to mum in bed, because it's her special day." Her tiny eyebrows scrunch up but she seems satisfied with the answer and watches Sherlock scoop the batter onto the griddle and listens to it sizzle.

When he's finished and has a plate piled high with oddly shaped pancakes and a handful of roses rested neatly in a glass he quietly ushers Annabelle down the hallway with her picture in her hands. She throws the door open and launches herself onto their bed and Molly stirs when tiny hands shake her shoulders excitedly.

"Mummy, wake up!" blinking sleep from her eyes Molly rolls over and sees her daughter bouncing beside her, holding out the drawing while Sherlock smiles beside her and winks, motioning for her to look at it.

"Oh this is lovely," she coos and wraps her in a hug, smoothing back her hair and grinning madly at Sherlock.

"It looks like you two have been awfully busy this morning," she remarks, watching Sherlock set down his tray and perching on the edge of the bed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered in her ear.

"This is just a little thanks from the two of us."

He gave her the tray and she smiled at the flowers and food he had obviously worked hard to make nice. Picking up her fork she brought a bite to her lips, raising an eyebrow at him before chewing it thoughtfully.

"Looks like your cooking skills have improved," she teased, offering him a bite before giving a smaller one to Annabelle who was now taking refuge in her mother's lap. "I love it, all of this is perfect."

Sherlock sighed in visible relief and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for her to take another mouthful of pancake.

"I'm glad you like it because you may not feel the same about the state of the kitchen."

"Sherlock…"

"Happy Mother's day love."


	10. Tiny Miracles

The clean smell of the doctor's office spins around Sherlock's head, making him more uncomfortable than he already was. The white walls were filled with posters and pictures of developing fetuses and the stages of pregnancy, things he already knew but suddenly felt were foreign to him as he treaded these new waters that felt like they were suffocating him.

He was happy they were having another baby, longed to feel the same overpowering love he felt when Annabelle had come into the world and suddenly everything else was put into perspective for him. But there was a part of him that, although it would never be admitted out loud, that was terrified. He hadn't been there for Molly the first time and had instead left her to put together a life for something he helped create. It had been selfish and so very much like him that the thought made him ill.

This was why he was sitting in this office, in the hard uncomfortable plastic chair as Molly thumbed through a magazine and seemed completely at ease while he was fighting his mind for control of his thoughts. He envied her ability to simply relax. She did however seem to sense his discomfort, mainly because he hadn't stopped fidgeting in the last five minutes or so and she smiles sweetly and grips one of his hands in her own.

"Sherlock it's alright, you've nothing to be nervous about. This is all routine." She cocks her to the side and studies him. "You look tired."

She sees the dark circles under his eyes that mark the normally pale alabaster skin and she frowns, the lines in her forehead becoming visible.

"I wasn't able to sleep last night. Too much to think about," he shrugs. If he was being honest he had only been able to think about one thing last night and the idea had rendered him helpless when it came to sleep. "It's very easy for things to go wrong on these occasions."

At the whispered words Molly's hazel eyes shoot up and meet jade green, widening in surprise. She bites her bottom lip, the habit he's noticed since he first walked through the doors of the morgue and found a mousy young woman he didn't know with her hands plunged in the corpse of his victim.

"Nothing is going to happen," she whispers, smoothing back his hair, "I'm fine and the baby's fine. You're such a worrier." She pecks his lips before settling back in her chair, keeping her fingers tightly intertwined with his.

Sherlock lets out a deep breath and prays she's right, knowing it's nothing more than his overactive mind keeping him in the shadows and torturing him with thoughts that Molly seemed to deem ridiculous. Still, it didn't stop his stomach from tying itself in knots when a young nurse with dark hair called Molly's name and she gathered her purse as she urged Sherlock to his feet, still holding his hand. He rests his hand on the small of her back and trails behind her, hearing the rustle of the paper gown as she takes it in her hands and smiles politely at the nurse before she leaves the room.

"I'll be back," she announces, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving him to awkwardly settle into yet another plastic chair as he crossed his arms and looked around the room. She emerges just a few minutes later, now wearing the gown and smiling sheepishly as Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"Very chic," he comments as she giggles, settling on the table and swinging her legs back and forth. He seems to have swallowed some of his earlier fears and now he felt impatience creeping up on him quickly.

He's ready to open his mouth and comment when a knock sounds at the door and his head perks up as an older, kind eyed woman walks into the room and smiles at Molly.

"So we're having another baby here aren't we?" she smiles and Molly nods her head excitedly before looking at Sherlock.

"This is my husband Sherlock," she says after a moment, forgetting the detective and the doctor were strangers. Sherlock nodded his head politely and stuck his hand out.

"Nice to meet you."

Introductions are finished quickly before Doctor Jameson and Molly discuss her symptoms and things Sherlock was keen on blocking out, pretending to be engrossed in the poster above his head before he saw her retreat from the room. He breathes a sigh of what seems like relief and Molly rolls her eyes.

There's another knock on the door just moments later and another younger woman steps in and says hello to both of them. Sherlock finds her constant cheer slightly annoying but he keeps his opinions to himself for once, the last thing he needs is an angry Molly after all.

"Alright you two, I'm Tracy, your ultrasound technician," she pulls out a bottle of blue gel and types something on the keyboard beside her. "Let's take a look at your baby huh?"

He watches Molly instantly lift her gown up; revealing her stomach that has the slightest hint of a swell, with ease and remembers she knows the procedure already. This second nature to her. Tracy mutters something that he blocks out, his eyes watching Molly's eyes widen as the gel makes contact with her skin and she mumbles something under her breath.

"Sorry, it's a little cold," Tracy apologizes. She pulls out the wand and gently presses it against Molly's stomach, adjusting it for a few seconds before she laughs triumphantly and turns the screen in front of her towards Molly and Sherlock.

Instantly Molly seems to be in tears, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly while he just stares ahead. Finally, he looks down at her and then back up at the screen, one corner of his mouth tipped up slightly. The image was grainy but he could see it plain as day. While it still somewhat resembled a blob he felt is chest tighten as he looked at his child and he found himself squeezing Molly's fingers in response, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Do you see it?" she squeaks, not able to tear her eyes away from the screen. Sherlock huffs out a little laugh and kisses her once more, murmuring in her ear softly.

"I see it love, I see it."


	11. All Hail the High Sea

"You have to walk the plank!" the cardboard blade is poking him in the back, a symphony of giggles coming from behind him as he stands on the edge of the 'ship' and feigns dread as he steps off the couch and begins his descent into the ocean that the floor of his living room has been turned into.

"Alright," he says tiredly, holding up his hands in defeat, "you've won. The sea is yours now captain."

Annabelle triumphantly makes a mad dash around the room, leaving Sherlock to catch his breath before hauling himself to his feet and shaking his head at the abundant amount of energy his toddler has. He dusts off his clothes and when he stands back and takes in the damage they've caused he knows Molly is almost sure to kill him when she returns home.

Sherlock looks around at the state of their living room and winces at the aftermath of a day ruling the sea, the cushions from the couch making it a bit difficult to maneuver his way to the other side so he can scoop up an exhausted Annabelle (who is suddenly running on empty) and get her to bed. He picks up the sword he had made for her earlier that day and a smile spreads across his face before he throws it down and picks up the little girl whose arms are outstretched towards him as she yawns.

"You were a very good captain," he tells her, she presses her face into his chest and giggles. "The best ship that ever sailed the high seas."

He bumps the bedroom door open with his hip and quickly changes Annabelle out of her clothes, slipping on some pajamas and tucking her tightly into bed before he grabs a book off the shelf and settles onto the bed with her tucked into his side. She keeps her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her hands and her eyelids are already drooping heavily.

He'll remember to use this method more often when he needs her to drain some energy.

Sherlock only gets through the first few pages of  _The Cat in the Hat_  before he realizes she's fallen asleep and he kisses her forehead and smoothes back her hair before quietly slipping out the bed and tiptoeing to the living room as quickly as he can. Of course, as his fate would have it, there was already someone waiting for him and the raised eyebrow he was being given told him he had some explaining to do.

"The two of you had a busy night I see," Molly says in a whisper, picks up the eye patch lying by her foot and it dangles between her fingers while she hides a smirk. He begins putting the couch back together, shrugs his shoulders with a lopsided grin before he comes over and wraps his arms around her and his hand finds the slight bump that's already present beneath her oversized sweater.

"I introduced her to the idea of becoming a pirate," he puffs out his chest slightly, "It's a highly sought after profession after all."


	12. Happy

After a long day Sherlock was actually thankful to fall asleep. A long day of playing doting father and not sleeping the two nights before had taken its toll and he had collapsed beside Molly who was already dozing soundly in the bed.

He had only been asleep for a few hours when his eyes suddenly shot open and he was vaguely aware of someone shaking him gently, a low whispering voice near his ear. He yawns and scrubs his face, looking over at Molly who had switched on the bedside lamp and was looking at him through wide eyes. He shot up and his hands fly out to grip her shoulders as his eyes sweep over her frantically, unsure what was actually wrong with her. Molly bites her lip to hide a laugh bubbling up in her throat at his protectiveness and she shakes his hands off.

"I'm fine- _we're_ fine." Her hands came to rest on the swell beneath her night shirt, a now well defined bump that protruded from between her hips.

Sherlock lets out a breath and visibly relaxes.

"Well then why did you wake me?" he looks at the clock and the glowing red numbers tell him it's just past one o'clock. Molly is still smiling at him but she doesn't offer an answer to his question, instead she lifts up her shirt and gently grabs his hand, pressing against the taut skin of her stomach.

He knits his eyebrows tightly together, the gesture was seemingly pointless and he opens his mouth to complain about the interruption to his sleep when the tiniest sensation beneath his hand left him speechless. It was barely there; just a light fluttering against his palm but it was definitely there. He raises his eyes and they lock with Molly's.

"That's…that's the baby?" Molly nods her head and places her hand on top of his, squeezing his fingers.

"It's the first time it's kicked. I wanted you to feel it before it stopped."

Sherlock is seemingly helpless against the sudden wave of emotion that overtakes him, the pounding in his chest is loud and his stomach is tight with a joy he can't describe. It's the first time he's actually encountered any indication other than the ultrasound that there was a life growing inside Molly that he helped create and it was an overpowering and natural feeling.

When the movement below his hand comes to a stop he pulls his hands back into his lap, looks at Molly but can't seem to find anything to say. She understands though and she giggles at the awestruck expression he wears before she picks up one of his hands, smoothing her thumbs over his knuckles.

"Are you happy?" she asks, and the uncertainty that drips from the words is slightly unnerving to Sherlock. Then again, she had earned the right to doubt him without question. He pulls his hand out of her grasp and cups her cheek so she's looking straight at him and the intensity that's building up it almost unbearable.

"I am the happiest man on this earth right now." he tells her.


	13. Keep Calm and Ask John

On a rainy and dreary Tuesday Sherlock finds himself in the spare bedroom, hands folded under his chin as he sits cross-legged on the floor with Annabelle in his lap and John beside him. Both look irritated, more so with each other than the pile of tools and crib parts sitting in front of them and if the tension in the air hadn't been as thick it may have even been comical. John is staring at the instructions with his eyebrows knit so tightly Sherlock wonders how they haven't fused together by now and when he reaches forward to pick up one of the wooden rods for further inspection he feels a sharp slap delivered to his hand. He pulls away with a scowl and Annabelle just laughs quietly.

"What was that for?"

John rolls his eyes but never looks up. "You had your chance to put this thing together without the instructions and it was a bloody disaster, now it's my turn."

Sherlock grimaces a bit when he remembers the mess they had left the night before, the should have been crib in shambles in the middle of the floor and a more than slightly irritable Molly (he really shouldn't doubt the power of hormones) yelling at them to stop making so much noise before they woke Annabelle. All in all it had been a disaster and Sherlock's approach (trashing the directions and going in blind) was deemed useless.

"Please John you're a doctor not a handy man, what gives you a greater advantage over me?" he puffs out his chest rather proudly but all John does is wave the directions towards him before reaching setting back to work and watching Sherlock deflate with a frown.

Sherlock sighs and lifts Annabelle off of his lap, sending into the den to play while he tries to help John before Molly gets home. Over the last few months he's noticed a more than slight change in her, no doubt the work of her increased hormones and stress from her job in the morgue along with caring for Annabelle. He's tried his best to be of help but his cluelessness when it came to most household activities and his ability to bore easily made it difficult to do anything other than sit with his mouth closed. He found out the less he talked and the more he kept quiet, the less yelling there was.

In an attempt to be of some help he had recruited John the day before to start putting together the nursery, now painted a vibrant yellow much like Annabelle's had been although it remained mostly empty except for a white dresser and the unassembled crib they were now working on. He wants it to be a surprise but the doubt is quick to fill his mind when he realizes neither he nor John are exactly cut out to put together nurseries and fold the impossible tiny clothes Molly has already gotten from his mother and a few friends.

He slumps back onto the ground and hands John another nail when he holds hand out, sighing loudly. John scoffs but it's barely heard over the pounding of the hammer.

"Please don't tell me you're bored already. We have quite a bit more work to do if you want this done before Molly gets home."

"I'm not bored. I'm thinking." The response is instant and piques John's interest. He picks up another piece of the crib and talks as he keeps building.

"Anything important you're thinking about? Or is it just more ways to get Molly to yell at you and keep me here on my days off?" Now it's Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes although they're clouded with something John can't decipher.

"Have you and Mary ever given thought to more children?"

It catches John by surprise but he finds himself nodding his head, still unsure where the conversation is headed. "A few times yes, when Lucy's older. Why?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I'm just not sure John." His shoulders slump and he scrubs a hand over his face. "At first the idea of another child didn't seem so bad, and with Molly wanting one as much as she did I saw no point in declining but lately I've been thinking back to when Annabelle was a baby and I can't but wonder if I got lucky with the way things turned out."

John's mouth opens but the words seem stuck, as if he can't seem to form them. While it wasn't a surprise nor unwelcome for Sherlock to bring up his problems the doctor wasn't sure where this was going. The last time Sherlock had voiced any serious doubts over his role as a parent it was John who found himself waiting outside of the delivery room when his best friend's first child had been born. His face morphs into one of seriousness and he turns his body toward Sherlock, looking at him dead on.

"You know sometimes you can be so  _daft,_ " he chuckles and tosses his hammer to the ground while Sherlock just looks dumbfounded at the outburst, "You didn't get  _lucky_  with the way your child turned out you git, she's the way she is because you're a good father and that isn't going to change when the next one comes along. You and Molly are the best parents I know; don't let that overactive mind of yours tell you different alright?"

He waits for Sherlock to give a slightly shocked nod before he picks the hammer back up and begins working as if the conversation never mattered and Sherlock just goes back to handing him pieces when he's prompted. The words keep spinning in his head though and when the soldier isn't looking Sherlock smiles and is suddenly thankful for the friend he's found in John Watson.


	14. Night Owl

For the first time in what felt like months Sherlock was awoken by something other than chubby hands and a tear stained face. There was no crying over monsters under the bed or a runny nose as a result of the ever changing weather, in fact it wasn't Annabelle who woke him at all this time. He rolled over slowly, flattened curls falling into his face as he rubs sleep from his eyes and squints to adjust his vision to the lighting.

He caught a glimpse of the clock on the table, it was close to three in the morning and Molly looked wide awake, one hand resting on her ever expanding belly while her eyes skimmed over the book in her other. Sherlock sits up and it catches his wife's attention and when he looks at her more closely he notices the dark circles beneath her eyes and the exhaustion reflecting in the brown orbs. She sets the book aside when she notices he was awake and lets a sigh flow past her lips, reaching out to smooth back his hair with soft fingers.

He props himself on his elbow and knits his eyebrows. "How long have you been awake?" he asks around a yawn.

Molly shrugs and winces slightly, hand returning to her stomach. He assumes it was one of those 'practice contractions' she had told him about. He had had an extreme overreaction when they had first began a few weeks ago but now he was used to the occasional look of discomfort that would pass across her face. He gives her a sympathetic smile and puts his hand on top of hers before it slides down and he presses lightly against her taut skin. He can feel the familiar twinge beneath his palm and huffs out a laugh before the smile melts away when he feels her head on his shoulder.

"What's the matter?"

She fought back a yawn and mumbled into his night shirt. "Can't sleep."

He kisses her forehead, one hand rubbing her arm soothingly in an attempt to bring what comfort he could. He knew the last few weeks of pregnancy were passing by slowly, making Molly more uncomfortable as each day passed. As an idea formed in his mind he carefully slid out of bed, retrieving the extra pillows she kept in the closet. He came back, propping them up around her until she was lying as comfortable as possible with a smile tugging at her lips. Sherlock slid back under the blanket when he was finished, letting Molly lean into his chest while he smoothes back her hair.

"Better?"

He waits for her answer but when the only thing that greets him is silence he looks down, seeing her eyelids flutter as her breathing begins to even out. Shaking his head he flicks off the light and prays he can get a few more hours of sleep before Annabelle was up and ready for the day.


	15. And Then There Were Four

Pressing his face up against the glass Sherlock keeps his eyes glued on the small blue bundle in the plastic crib. His tiny fists are flailing; eyes bunched shut against his cries. Even at just hours old it amazed him how much his son looked like Molly. He had the same shade of auburn hair, a soft tuft on the top of his head, the ends just visible beneath the tiny cap the nurse had put on him, the same tiny button nose and puckered pink lips. The detective's heart was still thumping madly in his chest, head spinning with thoughts he couldn't even begin to comprehend as the events of the night replayed in his head as his son squirmed in front of him, looking up at him with wide blue eyes that were sure to fade over time.

_As soon as the lusty cry filled the air he was sure time and his heart had stopped. He watched as a screaming pink baby was placed on Molly's chest and the tears had already began to fill his wife's eyes as she urged him to look even though he had yet to take his eyes away. He watched her stroking his cheek and weeping happily, still clutching Sherlock's hand with a force he was unaware she possessed. She took the time to look him over, counting ten tiny fingers and toes, admiring the way he snuggled against her by instinct. Everything about him seemed perfect._

_It wasn't until the nurse had approached; scooping the baby into her arms and carrying him away that Sherlock had finally snapped out of his trance and watched them slowly disappear. He gave Molly a quick look and she just nodded sleepily, watching as he trailed after their son._

_He was still screaming, face red and legs kicking as he was dried and a tiny hat was placed on his head. Sherlock watched as he was measured and weighed, the crying eventually fading into quiet whimpers. Eventually he looked up at the nurse with wide eyes._

" _Can I touch him?"_

_She chuckled, nodding her head. "Of course you can. He's yours after all."_

_With a slight smile he reached down and offered a finger, feeling the familiar pressure of a tiny hand squeezing back. It wasn't until he had been swaddled and offered to his father that Sherlock had finally looked away from the tiny face and up at the nurse, giving him an encouraging nod. Carefully he took him in his arms, the warmth seeping into his own body as he kissed the tiny forehead and approached Molly._

_He passed the baby to her, smoothing back her hair and kissing her forehead. In that moment she was more beautiful than he had ever seen her before even with the exhaustion in her eyes. For the next hour he watched the brand new mother and their son, perched on the edge of the bed as Molly pressed into his side._

He sighed and pressed his hand to the glass as the memory faded. By now his son was asleep, tiny chest rising and falling as he was oblivious to the world. He was ready to turn away and head back to Molly's room was the sound of soft footsteps against the tiles caught his attention. He looked back and Molly smiled at him, her hair damp from the shower she had taken earlier as she pulled the robe closer around her. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as she came to stand beside him, pressing her own face against the glass. He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up.

"You should be resting," he chided, but the only thing it earned him was an eye roll.

"I'm fine," she insisted, "I wanted to see him anyway."

She leaned against Sherlock, obviously dead on her feet after only managing a few hours of sleep and he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. She sighed and closed her eyes, head on his shoulder.

"Have you thought of any names yet?" she cracked open a hazel eye and looked at him questioningly. Sherlock bit his lip as his lips ghosted across her temple.

"I was thinking…" he whispered, "We could name him after your father."

For a moment only silence greeted him and fear that he had conjured up more feelings than he should have began to gnaw at him. He was just about to apologize when he noticed the tears spilling from her eyes and she reached up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips that took him by surprise. When they broke apart his eyes were wide with question but Molly simply turned back to admire the sleeping baby with nothing but love.

"He does sort of look like a Liam doesn't he?"


	16. Introductions

Sherlock is relieved when he is able to take Molly and Liam home the next day, taking extra care to make sure the car seat is hooked up correctly before Molly places the baby inside and leans back against the seat with a tired sigh. Before he slides into the front seat Sherlock brushes back her hair and smiles, the excitement to get home to Annabelle and introduce everyone to his son bubbling in his gut. The drive is fairly long, mostly because Sherlock is once again a new father and the same niggling overprotective feeling has made its home in his mind and he can't help but take extra precautions, but when they finally pull up outside their home he feels himself relax slightly when John appears on the front steps with a huge smile on his face and Mary peering out from behind him in excitement.

He helps molly out of the car and while she gathers Liam in her arms John comes up and offers Sherlock a handshake that ends up as a hug, and for once the detective accepts it without a complaint while Mary can be heard cooing over the bundle in Molly's arms. Sherlock can see the stars in her eyes and the grin playing on her face and he smirks in John's direction.

"Oh, shut up." Is all he says before they follow everyone else inside and he feels something collide full force with his legs.

He feels tiny hands clutching the fabric of his pants and scoops Annabelle into his arms. "Hello love, did you have fun with John?"

Her only answer is a nod as she buries her face into the crook of his neck and whimpers pitifully for her mother. Sherlock rubs her tiny back soothingly and walks her to their flat, waving a thank you and goodbye to John who now has Lucy on his hip.

Now in the warmth of his own home he breathes a sigh of relief and sets Annabelle on the ground when she sees Molly on the couch and launches herself in her direction. He watches mother and daughter for a moment, knowing it had nearly broken Molly's heart to be away from her child but when Annabelle sees the tiny baby resting in Molly's arms her head cocks to the side and she looks to Molly and then Sherlock.

"Is that the baby?" she asks, reaching out to touch the tiny hand that's escaped the blanket. Molly nods and pushes back some of the stray black curls that are almost to the middle of her back now and moves the blanket so she can see his face.

Sherlock comes to sit down, pulling Annabelle into his lap. "Would you like to hold him?"

He watches her green eyes go wide and she nods. "Can I?"

Molly laughs and maneuvers the baby over to Sherlock who carefully places Liam in Annabelle's waiting arms. "Of course, just be careful though."

When they're settled Annabelle happily stares down at her baby brother in awe and Molly looks close to tears (hormones she tells him) as she goes to find a camera despite Sherlock's protests of being photographed. When she disappears around the corner Sherlock looks down at his children and it strikes him just how different his life is than what he imagined years ago, a complete one eighty from the day John Watson stepped into his life and right up to that moment he stepped out of everyone else's. and while it was unexpected and at times the most terrifying thing he had ever done he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.


	17. Photogenic

For Mycroft Holmes Christmas was not something he was used to, let alone comfortable with. He spent most holidays tucked away in his office, a bottle of expensive whiskey and his computer keeping him company while he let most of his employees go home. This year however was different as he stood outside his brother's flat and contemplated knocking on the door. Molly's invitation over the phone was still ringing in his ears as his stomach twisted. It had been years since he had actually spent a Christmas around family and with the addition of his nephew he figured it might be worth it to actually show up.

Finally he swallowed and knocked three solid times, standing back on his heels. There was a shuffling on the other side before it swung open and his brother appeared, forcing a smile that looked more or less disturbing. He was ready to open his mouth and comment but he caught sight of the bundle in Sherlock's arms and closed it once more. Wordlessly he stepped into the flat that smelled like home cooked food and cinnamon, catching a glimpse of the tree in the corner and the little girl sitting beneath it while Molly hung ornaments. When she saw Mycroft her face lit up, and she waved happily before going back to handing her mother the colored bulbs and chattering happily.

He hung his coat quietly and stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do or say until Molly came up and pulled him into a hug and bubbled over with laughter. He vaguely heard something about "proving Sherlock wrong," and "knowing he would show."

"Make yourself at home," she insisted with a final smile before disappearing into the kitchen towards the sound of the timer.

Following Sherlock he sat on the couch and pretended to watch the television until he felt the cushions shift beside him and looked over to see Annabelle climbing up before pressing herself into his side as she watched the Christmas cartoon that was on. The smile that washed over him was something he couldn't help but he felt it disappear as Sherlock spoke up from across the way.

"It's been nearly two months since I've called and I know Molly has left you more than enough messages." His tone was cold, angry even but Mycroft didn't blame him. It had been much too long since he had seen his family and even with the announcement of his nephew's birth he had yet to answer any calls.

It wasn't because he didn't care, even though he was unsure if his brother was aware, it was just what he was used to. His job was his life, he had learned a long time ago how little caring got you and because of that he was only around when he was needed. And since he had become a father Sherlock had little need for his assistance which meant he would go back to the solitary, top shelf life he was used to living.

Clearing his throat he met Sherlock's eyes. "You know better than anyone how…difficult the emotional family gatherings are. I figured over time you might just forget and we'd all be better off."

"You are my brother, Mycroft, and just because our past is unpleasant doesn't mean the future has to be too."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at his words and Mycroft chuckled.

"Are those your words or your wife's?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but he was grinning all the same and Mycroft took it as a good sign before he looked back at the baby who had yet to leave his father's arms. He bit his lip in uncertainty.

"Do you think I could…?" he nodded toward Liam and while Sherlock still looked slightly irritated he carefully handed the older man his nephew without complaint.

"My god he looks like his mother," he finally said and Sherlock smiled.

Mycroft continued to marvel at the baby as Annabelle crossed over from his side of the couch to sit in Sherlock's lap and he remembered the day he had met her for the first time and how in love he had been with someone he had never met before. It surprised him how hard the guilt weighing down in his gut had suddenly hit him as he wondered how he had strayed from his family. They had been quite close when Annabelle was younger and it didn't make any sense how he could let himself stray so far from them again.

He looked up from Liam just as molly came back into the room and squealed at the sight of him holding her son. She pointed at the table across the room, demanding her camera as Sherlock smirked at his brother and went to retrieve it (Molly had been a tad bit obsessed with pictures since they became parents again). She gratefully took it from her husband and demanded Mycroft smile despite his protests and begging (he and Sherlock seemed to share a hatred of the camera) but when he saw that the tiny woman wasn't budging until she got her picture he held tighter to the baby and smiled all while trying not to glare at his brother in the background.


	18. Heavenly Reassurance

The first thing Molly notices when she nudges the front door open is the silence that's taken over the flat. She is expecting a fussing baby and a hyperactive toddler but when she rounds the corner to the den all she sees is Sherlock sprawled across the couch, smiling at her lazily with no children in sight. Setting down her bag and shrugging of her coat she looks at him accusingly.

"I'm not trying to imply anything with this question Sherlock but where are our children?"

The smile melts into a playful glare as Sherlock sits up and lets Molly sit down next to him, pulling her into his lap and kissing her eagerly, slightly surprising her.

"Mary and John have them." He says breathily.

He's noticed lately that Molly has been exhausted (with good reason to be of course) and a night without two young children seemed like something he could do for her without making a big deal of things. He may not be good with grand gestures but he knows how to please his wife. Molly lets her finger tangle in his unruly curls, ruffled from the sleep he took earlier, and feels him nip at her bottom lip with obvious desire. Abruptly she pulls back and looks at her lap silently.

"Can we not tonight? I know we have the flat to ourselves but I just don't feel…"

Sherlock lolls his head to the side with knit eyebrows. He can tell by the look on her face that she is doubtful, more so of herself than anything else as she picks at her fingernail and ultimately avoids looking at him. He runs his hands up and down her shoulders and sighs.

"You don't think you're beautiful," he states bluntly.

Molly's eyes widen in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"It is true isn't it? You don't want to do it because you don't feel or look like you use to."

His voice is soft and soothing to her now but she remembers all the times when something of this magnitude would be stated with an icy undertone and the ever cocky grin he wore when he knew something other didn't and the thought causes her to cross her arms across her chest in doubt.

Still, she answers his question. "Yes, I guess so."

Sherlock chuckles and she smacks him on the chest with a huff.

"Why are you laughing you git?"

"Because that is the most ridiculous thing I've heard since running into Anderson the other day."

When Molly stares at him blankly he sighs and pulls her back to him, letting her settle on his lap. "I don't care what you look like, that's not why I love you nor is it why I even began to love you. You are my wife, the mother of my children and other than John and Lestrade you are one of the only friends I have. I owe you more than life and I love you for those reasons. Therefore it doesn't matter if you don't look the same."

She bites her lip, already sore from Sherlock and shuts her eyes tightly, unsurprised when she feels tears slip down her cheeks. Underneath her he quickly sucks in a breath as if he's worried he's done something wrong, calloused thumbs brushing away the moisture as he clicks his tongue in disappointment.

"You don't believe me." He says and she notes that it is not a question.

She almost yelps when he swings her up into his arms, one tucked beneath her knees and the other supporting her back as he maneuvers his way down the hall and kicks the bedroom door open. She buries her face in his chest until he comes to the edge of the bed, gently lays her down and stands over her with painful admiration in his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" he asks and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

"I think we're quite a ways past that love."

Sherlock grins wryly and growls, a sound emanating from deep in his chest and carefully works his hands under her blouse, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. She gasps but there is no pulling away or protesting because she trusts him more than anyone. Her slacks go next, his fingers cold against the sensitive skin of her thighs and she shivers, holding in a moan. When she's in just her panties and bra he straddles her, hands braced above her head and before long those are gone too and she's bare beneath him. He dips his head and his lips skim the hollow of her neck, the creamy skin heavenly on his tongue. Molly isn't sure what he's doing as his lips press gently against her collar bone next before moving down to her breasts, taking the time to caress and kiss each one with a gentleness she's only seen when the kids are around.

Her stomach is next, her breath hitching when he runs his hands over her. she will be the first to admit that after two children she is far from the figure she possessed years ago and while Sherlock has never complained she is not exactly comfortable flaunting herself to him. He kisses her everywhere, stomach and hips, her thighs and her fingers. Every inch of skin is given attention and with every brush of the lips or fingertips she feels herself relaxing around him. He has not spoken a word since he started but as she slithers back up her body, hands trailing slowly as if he's teasing her. His blue eyes are burning into her as she smiles, reaching up and pressing her lips to his and he pushes back just as forcefully, breath hot against her face.

"You are  _heavenly_ ," he breathes.

She makes a sound that surprises her, something akin to a whimper as she buries her face into the crook of his neck and pants heavily, tears burning her eyes once more and staining his shirt. she can't speak but he seems to know what's going on in her mind because he laughs deeply, chest vibrating against hers and kisses the sensitive spot just below her ear, lips lingering.

"I love you too."


	19. Ballerinas and Coloring Books

The day before Annabelle turns four Sherlock takes her to the park.

Spring has come by now but the air is still chilly so he wraps her tightly in a coat and calls out to Molly, who is busy with a fussy baby and is thrilled to rid the house of its two most troublesome members. They walk today, the exercise is good for them both after the winter months proved to be brutal and they spent most days inside in the warmth.

She keeps her tiny hand in his large, calloused one, swinging her arm back and forth and humming a song she's made up in her head. He keeps his eyes on her most of the time, smiles finding their way onto his face every time she does something that reminds him of himself or Molly. She even has a few quirks of her own that he has just noticed and wonders if maybe, he is losing his touch.

The park is fairly busy and he is pleased, a victorious smirk on his face as he plops down on a bench and Annabelle climbs up beside him. She shifts a little closer to him until he feels her pressing into his side, wide eyes watching him as he scans the clumps of people walking and talking. Her tiny voice breaks his concentration.

"Why didn't mum come with us?"

Sherlock ruffles her hair with a smile. "Because I'm selfish and I wanted you to myself today. You won't be little for long."

He taps her nose with his pointer finger, giggles erupting as she buries her face in his coat. They laugh for a moment until he grows serious and picks her up, setting her on his lap and pointing toward a small group of people just in front of him.

"Love, what can you see over there?"

"People."

It comes out slightly skeptical, he holds in a chuckle.

"That's right. Do you see that woman right there?"

There's a nod.

"Alright then. I want you to look at her, just focus on her face and her clothes and the way she moves as hard as you can ok? And then I want you to tell me something about her."

There's a confused look and her shoulders droop. She looks back at him with uncertainty.

"But what if I don't see anything?"

"It's ok, just try."

Annabelle sighs but her face eventually crumples into one of concentration, eyes crinkling as she squints and watches the woman so intently he actually feels prideful. Then she sighs, her body deflating and she hangs her head with a sniffle.

"I don't see anything," she whimpers, wiping the back of her hand across her face. Her pale cheeks are wet with tears that he wipes away with the swipe of a thumb.

Kissing her temple he smoothes his hand over her back and holds her tight.

"It's alright. It takes time, you may not see anything the first time." He licks his lip and looks down at her questioningly. "Would you like to see me do it?"

Instantly she lights up. "Yes!"

"Well, first I can tell you she has a cat. The hairs on her pant legs and shirt are to fine to be dog hair and the small scratches on her hands mean it probably isn't the friendliest. She's also an office worker of some sort going by the pen smudges on her fingers, she's getting married soon and her husband is a soldier."

Annabelle huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "You can tell all that just by looking?"

He feels boastful, it's been some time since he's shown off but he keeps himself in line and answers with a nod. She mulls over his answer in silence for a moment, leaning into him and lazily stretching her legs before looking up, voice now a whisper.

"Daddy, what if I don't wanna catch the bad guys like you? Or be a doctor like Mum?"

He balks. "What do you mean?"

She turns her eyes back to the woman, a shiny engagement ring on her finger and a folder of wedding plans in her arms. "What if I don't wanna be like you guys? Would you be mad?"

Something in Sherlock's gut tells him this isn't the first time the question has entered his daughters mind and he feels his chest tighten. While he would love for his children to take after himself or Molly he knows what it feels like to be so young and have expectations riding on you. He would never wish that on his children.

He smoothes back her hair and pulls her up to his chest, hugging her tightly.

"You can be  _whatever_ you want, regardless of what we are or what we want."

She toys with the sleeve of her coat. "So it's ok if I like ballerinas and coloring and not science and stuff?"

"Of course. And if you ask mum she will say the same thing. I want you to be happy and if ballerinas and coloring make you happy than that is alright with me."

And it is. Anything that makes the little girl in his arms smile is perfectly fine with him. She wasn't getting any younger as he so painfully reminded himself on a daily basis, and soon she would have to consider what she wanted and what made her happy.

Even tutus and endless amounts of crayon drawings for now.


	20. Forget Me Not

Sherlock could count on one hand the number of friends he had in this world and while most people would be greatly disappointed with this reality he considered himself quite lucky.

Of course he had Molly (both his best friend and his wife), who had been there for as long as he could remember through both his high and low points and the fact that she was still by his side was something he would be eternally thankful for.

John was something entirely different, stumbling into his life on a pure coincidence and ending up as a permanent fixture that would alter his future so profusely that sometimes Sherlock had a hard time wrapping his head around it all. Either way John was someone he cared about and would sacrifice for just as quickly as he would for his family.

He supposed he could add Mycroft, who was already his family, and Mrs. Hudson (who might as well be) but the person he had recently realized as someone who had had an effect on his life similar to Molly and John was Greg.

The inspector was always someone he held a bit of respect for, no matter how much he annoyed him and as time wore on and he saw more and more of him outside a work setting he couldn't suppress the feeling that maybe he had neglected to express his feelings the way he should have.

Greg had been here since the beginning, giving Sherlock a chance when no one else would. Christ, Sherlock had even faked his death for him and he didn't know why it had taken almost four years since that fateful day for him to realize how much he valued him in his life.

Which is why today he was walking up to the aquarium, juggling a squirming baby and keeping a close eye on a bouncing four year old, and smiling at the silver haired man all while trying to tell himself that this wasn't a huge mistake.

As he gets closer to Greg and Annabelle actually spots her unofficially named uncle before launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his legs, he immediately begins to relax.

Greg is practically beaming as he scoops the excited little girl into his arms and carries her back to Sherlock who nods in greeting and shifts Liam to his other arm as he gurgles, looking around with wide eyes.

Sherlock takes his eyes away from his son and notices how content Annabelle looks in Greg's arms before he shakes his head and grins.

"Doesn't seem to have forgotten me has she?" Greg's face looks close to splitting and Sherlock scoffs at the preposterous suggestion.

It was true they hadn't seen much of Greg, Molly more than the rest of them because of work, but he thought it absolutely ridiculous for him to be someone they would forget. They made an effort to invite him to every gathering held on Baker Street and he had even stopped by days after Liam was born and sat with Molly for nearly an hour, cooing over the baby and congratulating them again and again.

_No one_  could ever fail to remember someone like him.

And while Sherlock never verbally expressed these facts he knew Greg understood because he could see the warmth in his eyes and the way they lit up when he came around his and John's families and it made him feel good to know they could bring him some happiness.

And as he watched him with his daughter, oohing and awing over the sharks and colorful fish that swam overhead he knew no one deserved it quite as much as him.


	21. Milestones

By the time fall rolls around once more Liam has grown considerably, looking more and more like Molly with each passing day. His hair is the same shade of auburn and laid flat against his head while his eyes are the same dark shade of brown, wide and full of curiosity.

As time wears on it becomes evident that the little boy is beginning to show signs of walking and ever since Sherlock has been incorrigible about it. After missing Annabelle's first steps nearly three years ago he had promised himself that he wouldn't miss his son's for anything, and while the thought was sweet it was beginning to drive Molly crazy.

Life was hard enough with a toddler and an infant but adding a paranoid father to the mix made life nearly impossible. On more than one occasion she would find her husband following their son around as he crawled about the house, calling out to Molly whenever he showed signs of taking those first few precious steps.

_The first time it happened and he had shouted at her from across the flat she had assumed the worst, running from the sitting room into the nursery with wide and frightened eyes only to find Sherlock staring down at Liam who sat on the floor, giggling up at his father who had his arms folded across his chest in what seemed like disappointment._

_Molly had gaped and felt her cheeks burn red. "Sherlock, what's going on?"_

_The detective had merely sighed as her concern flew right over his head. "I thought he was going to take a few steps but he only managed to pull himself about halfway up before he fell. Nothing of importance."_

_After that Molly had to remove herself from the room to stop herself from strangling the world's only consulting detective for giving her the scare of a lifetime but once she calmed down she told herself it was merely a misunderstanding and nothing else could possibly go wrong._

_She had never been more wrong._

Over the next few weeks Sherlock had made it a habit to follow Liam around wherever he went, which, for a child who had yet to even walk, wasn't difficult but managed to drive Molly absolutely insane. On top of the insistent observations, Sherlock thought it was to everyone's benefit that he learned all possible statistics concerning human development and recite them throughout the day and night.

After the fourth night of being woken up well before six a.m. to receive a series of facts from her seemingly nocturnal husband Molly had had enough. She knew Sherlock could sense her irritability as the day wore on but it didn't seem to stop him from reading aloud from his medical journal he had snagged from John or following the children around as they continued to make a mess of her house _._

In the end though, she lasted much longer than she had originally planned and it wasn't until after dinner that she had finally had enough and whirled around to face her husband as she gripped a soapy plate before exploding.

"Sherlock,  _please._  For the sake of my sanity could you stop with the bloody book!"

Blinking in surprise at his wife's sudden outburst Sherlock sets the book down on the counter and stands back, his eyes clouding with something Molly can't decipher.

"My apologies," he said in a deep voice, "I was merely trying to inform you of some helpful facts about our son and when he may take his first few steps. "

Molly purses her lips and for a moment feels the slightest hint of guilt tugging at her but a powerful mix of exhaustion and irritation keeps her from breaking down and apologizing. Instead she puts the plate down and pinches the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache.

"I know Sherlock but is it really necessary to recite every single thing and follow Liam around all day? I love that you're being so involved but you're driving me insane."

Sherlock scoffs. "How else am I supposed to keep track of his developments? I'm merely trying to make up for a past mistake, but I'm sorry if I've been disturbing you too much."

Molly can tell from the look etched onto Sherlock's face that he was hurt and she internally groaned when she realized the argument was escalating more than she had intended.

Reaching out she placed a hand on Sherlock cheek and stroked it with her thumb, looking him in the eyes.

"Sherlock love it's alright. I know what you're trying to do but have you ever stopped to think it may be a bit much? You're with Liam every day; I highly doubt you'll miss it when he does begin to walk so maybe we can take it easy for now?"

Immediately she saw his face soften at her words and he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek before his lips skimmed across to her ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I suppose it would be alright if we refrained from the constant observations… for now of course."

With a giggle Molly gave him a warm smile and pulled away to finish the dishes as Sherlock walked to the living room to ensure it wasn't completely destroyed by their unoccupied children. It was quiet for nearly a full minute before she heard the frantic sound of her husband's voice.

"Molly, come quickly!"

Torn between rushing to check on the situation and giving Sherlock another scolding she ends up dropping the plate she was washing back in the sink and moving toward the sound of his voice. She stops in the doorway and puts on her best scowl, ready to reprimand him once more but she stops when she catches sight of the scene in front of her.

Sherlock is standing in front of Liam with Annabelle at his side, holding his mobile and gaping excitedly as the little boy looks up at him questioningly while standing on wobbly legs. Molly has to quickly clap a hand over her mouth to keep herself from gasping aloud.

Liam looks up at his father again, who is encouraging him to walk to him across the room, holding out his free hand. The little boy looks at his father again before taking one shaky step forward, arms flailing in an attempt to keep his balance.

Molly can feel the tears welling in her eyes as he continues to take a few more steps before he reaches Sherlock who sets down his mobile and scoops Liam up, kissing and cooing over him with immense pride. Molly rushes over and begins doing the same, every trace of anger she had felt just moments ago suddenly disappearing.

She looks at Sherlock who has yet to stop smiling and opens her mouth to apologize, but before she has the chance he presses a finger to her lips and shakes his head and in return all Molly can do is smile and celebrate.


	22. Just Fine

"She doesn't really have to go, you know."

"Sherlock…"

"Really Molly, she would do wonderful in a home setting; as long as I was the instructor of course. It would-"

"I really don't think I have to tell you why that is a horrible idea Sherlock. She'll be fine; it's just nursery school after all."

_Just nursery school,_ he muses.

Sherlock grips the car's steering wheel just a little bit tighter as the school comes into view, his chest constricting as he glances in the rear-view mirror and sees Annabelle giggling to her doll in the backseat. Part of him thought he was being ridiculous, the other thought his fear was perfectly sensible.

As the car slows to a halt Sherlock takes a lengthy look around. There were parents and children everywhere, some laughing and others standing warily behind their mother's legs as they surveyed their surroundings with careful interest. He lets out a long sigh and glances at his wife, her eyes instantly warming with understanding as she reaches out to squeeze his hand.

"Why don't you walk her over there? Liam and I will be fine for a few minutes."

It takes a moment of internal debate but eventually Sherlock leans over to accept the kiss Molly offers him before getting out and helping Annabelle from her car-seat. He helps her with her bag, the one that seems entirely too big for her as she walks beside him, curly pigtails bouncing around her shoulders.

They reach the schoolyard in what feels like the blink of an eye and Sherlock feels a sense of déjà vu as he looks around. There are children playing and teachers watching, parents having a hard time saying goodbye and others who can't seem to get their kids to let go. He doesn't even have to think about which one he is.

He's been dreading this day for what seems like weeks now, knowing good and well it had to happen eventually but simultaneously wishing it didn't have to. While he didn't doubt his daughters intellectual ability to perform in school he knew personally how cruel other children could be and that made him wary. With Mycroft being a great deal older he had endured his school years on his own, the butt of jokes and ridicule. He was strange even at Annabelle's age, never one to be surrounded by laughter and play and it had taken a toll on him.

The thought of his own child going through something similar made his heart lurch and it was with great difficulty that he had even allowed Molly to enroll her for the year. He'd been adamant about home school but Molly had told him countless times that the experience and interaction would be good for her.

He can only hope she's right.

When he's finally able to free himself from his worrisome thoughts Sherlock looks down at Annabelle, ready for a goodbye before noticing she isn't alone. Another little girl is next to her, with blonde hair and a shy smile and when she reaches out to take Annabelle's hand and lead her towards the playground Sherlock feels his heart practically leap out of his chest.

Before they run off though, Sherlock is sure to kiss his daughter goodbye, promising to be here as soon as it was time to go and when he finally releases her into the hands of her new friend he has a strong feeling that things are going to be just fine.


End file.
